The Other Half
by Eskimo82
Summary: Murphy visits a fortune-teller, or The One Where Murphy Finds Out About His Other Half. Next instalment in my 'behind blue eyes' series
**Summary:**

Murphy visits a fortune-teller, or **The One Where Murphy Finds Out About His Other Half**.

Next instalment in my 'behind blue eyes' series

 **Notes** :

Title by The Ghost Inside.

Listen, my music choices are horrible, but I really wanted to use this title and the metal tones kinda fit Murphy, imo.

* * *

 **The Other Half**

* * *

"I'm going to die alone!" Clarke hears Murphy say by way of greeting, looking up from her book when he shuts the door to the apartment. There's a pitch in his voice and she can tell that he's speaking with a little more vehemence than he normally does.

He shrugs off his jacket, which is way too long by the cuffs, worn out by the years. He bought the thing many years ago and still wears it as a reminder of his bad boy high school years. Never mind that he has to roll it up by the sleeves now.

In her eyes, it's just an ugly and ratty piece of clothing, a little bit smelly from the regular wear, little faded red spikes scattered around the shoulders. In Murphy's eyes, though, it's a piece of who he is. It belongs to him, like an actual limb.

He toes off his boots and goes to flop down the couch next to Clarke.

 _'_ _One, two, three, fo —'_ Clarke starts to count the numbers in her head _._

It's part of her usual daily routine in these days, whenever Murphy arrives.

Just as she's expected, his head drops on her shoulders within… at the count of _three?_

Something must be bothering him.

Spending time with Murphy is a thing now: Netflix, movie nights and take out. Or, simply sharing the same space at the same time. Sitting with him on her couch in close proximity, without feeling awkward about it.

Well, it's basically _their_ couch by now, she thinks, ever since he was kicked out from his previous lease, which he was sharing with a few guys from college (Connor and Mbege) and that left him in need of a place to crash.

Naturally, Clarke decided to take him in.

"You like to adopt stray animals", Bellamy sweetly noted.

It's true. She's sort of adopted Murphy. As a result of her mothering he's living in her apartment, with her now.

She's pretty sure she's the only person on this planet who understands Murphy. Maybe not completely, but most of the dark matter what Murphy is. By any measure, she's definitely one of the few who can put up with him for a longer period of time, without snapping at him when he's becoming too much. The other was Emori.

So they are roommates now.

Bellamy … tolerates Murphy.

He still hasn't completely forgiven him for implying wanting to have sex with Clarke, but. They haven't really turned physical ever since that night, if grabbing someone by the collar _once_ counts as a violent act at all.

Bellamy tolerates Murphy just fine.

She hadn't been using the guest room anyway.

Let's back up for a minute. It only took Murphy 3 seconds to sag, this time. Three whole seconds. The most she counted was 99 before. Well, they started at 99 seconds, which was quite a while ago.

The number has gradually decreased each time, going down to 87, 74, 61, 52, 40, 33, then to 22 last week.

This time, though, it only took 3 whole seconds, before Murphy was snuggling into her side. Maybe, three and half.

Something _is_ really bothering him.

She narrows her eyes and presses her lips together in a tight line, pondering. She has to be smart about this. Does she really want to know? It's not too often, when Murphy wants to open up. By himself. Sharing things without any further prodding.

Who is she kidding? She's sort of invested in his life now. She wants to know. She _has_ to know.

Emori and Murphy, sadly, didn't last long. They could have, she thinks. The prospect of having a serious girlfriend and being loved might have been too overwhelming to Murphy, though. He's the one who ended things in the end.

It's still eating at him, the way it ended; but he haven't said a word about the break-up for weeks. Misery is still written all over his face.

Emori applied for a fellowship and moved to Europe for a year. And Murphy is way too stubborn to admit that he 's been falling for this girl, for real. Instead, he decided to deal with it, and end things with her.

That is, when the moping and snuggling began.

She didn't connect the dots, not at once, not until Bellamy found them like that 3 days in a row: snuggled together, in the middle of the couch.

He hasn't said anything, but he had the look in his eyes. Not annoyed, but curious. Side of his hip leaning against the doorframe or the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest, arching a brow somewhat pointedly. She knows that look. That's his look for silently asking _Again?_ through his eyes.

He suggested leaving Murphy suffer alone, it would pass. Except, she cannot let people suffer like that and alone.

Murphy is an onion, she knows that. Stings at first, but when you get behind his layers, you get to discover that he is, in fact, a sweet and cuddly teddy bear.

She has to go about this very carefully. And not when Bellamy was around. They may be tolerating each other, but they are still not back to the fist bumping, friendly phase.

"Haven't seen Emori in a while," she attempted one day, which he countered with a sharp ' _Mind your own fucking business, princess'_ , jumping to his feet and storming into his room. She hadn't seen him until the next day.

That was attempt number one.

A day later, and he was back in the living room, his head falling back on the back of the couch, a sweet cherry flavoured beer warming up in his clammy hands.

He finally broke that day and told her about Emori.

That was a week ago.

Today, here they are _again_ , in the comfort of the couch, Murphy's head leaning on her shoulders. His hair is getting a little shaggy, it tickles her cheeks. She makes a mental note to remind him to get a haircut, or he would let it grow until it reaches below his chin.

She curls her free hand around the back of his head, the one not leaning on the armrest of the couch, giving his head a few reassuring pats, brushing his hair away from her face.

"You wanna talk about it?" She asks, voice small and soothing.

He doesn't talk, instead he takes a dramatic deep breath. ' _The drama queen…'_

Few more minutes pass before he caves in, heaving another, deeper sigh. "I hit on this girl, in the copy shop, but she gave me a fake number."

She blinks. Now _this,_ she didn't expect. He's adorable.

"She doesn't deserve you, you know."

Bellamy finds them like that, not 10 minutes later, snuggled together on the couch, Clarke's hand still resting on the back of Murphy's neck in an odd angle to keep his hair away. Murphy curling around her like a cat.

Again.

Bellamy looks rather unimpressed. He's not mad, but he's not happy about the whole _being too emotional (read: touchy-feely) with the roommate_ thing. He just shakes his head and closes the door.

He likes to remind her time to time that moping Murphy is very much affecting their sex life — no more undisturbed fiery make-out sessions on the couch, and well, they just had to dial it down a notch, which. Clarke thinks they have to be more considerate, but Bellamy disagrees. It's not like he doesn't get what he wants…. she's being the perfect and giving girlfriend. He has no grounds to complain.

Murphy caught them there once, half dressed. She was already down to her bra and underwear, while Bellamy tried to shield her naked body with _his_ half naked body as much as he could. Murphy still made some ogling, which earned him a ' _Do you mind, Murphy?'_ grumble from Bellamy, and a solid pointed stare towards his room. He left eventually, and they hadn't seen him for the rest of the night. (Or the next.)

They didn't linger around the living room any longer, but it still made her flush from head to toe. It's not like Murphy hasn't seen her in basically the same thing before. Of course, it was different. She was wearing a bathing suit. It was before her growth spurt kicked in, in summer camp, before her breasts developed.

Honestly, she knows it's not really about sex, but the books. _Bellamy's books_. Those really heavy books (encyclopedias and alike) that were stored on a prime spot (eye level) on the only bookshelf of the apartment.

In the spare room, now _Murphy's room._

The books had to go. ' _They are only relocated'_ , as she has said many times before, but Bellamy still likes to fuss about it, and grabs every opportunity he can get to mention that _his_ books have been exiled under the coffee table in the living room.

He hasn't moved in officially, not yet, although he spends most of his time here, at her place. They practically live together, the three of them.

Bellamy only leaves when he needs a clean batch of underwear or a couple of fresh shirts. Or a book. Apart from that, he very much likes to spend his nights in her bed. Which is perfect and suits her fine. (She likes to wake up in the warmth of his arms.)

He also has his own key now. In fact, he had the key before Murphy moved in.

If that's not some kind of genuine commitment towards him, than she doesn't know what is.

In all fairness, they still haven't said _THE_ words.

"And you thought the best place to hit on a girl is in a random copy shop?" She asks, pulling back to Murphy. She is wiggling a little, trying to remove her hand from Murphy's neck, gently and slowly.

She doesn't even realise that she's resting her hand on the back of his neck, effectively cupping half his face. Not until her eyes find Bellamy's.

He's watching them. With that lifted unimpressive eyebrow look. ' _Again?'_

"I have standards," says Murphy. "I'm looking for educated girls, and that girl had a big pile of thick books in her hands and a big and really nice ra —" he doesn't finish, but it's enough to lighten the mood and earn a soft snort from Bellamy.

He's changed into sweatpants for the night, his shoulders leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms as if trying to accentuate the veins on his arms even more. The movement also makes his chest look good under his shirt. He has really nice chest and forearms. She _does_ appreciate the sight, but she also knows it's his code for _get rid of Murphy already, IT'S MY TIME_.

"You know what?" she starts. "I'm pretty sure there's someone out there waiting for you —" she says, extricating herself from under Murphy's weight. "Let's talk about it tomorrow." And then, "Maybe, Bell can give you some tips —"

Bellamy and Murphy both snort at that, simultaneously. He's back to his sarcastic self, which is good.

"Sure thing, princess. G'night." Murphy responds, slowly. Then he lifts his chin to offer a quick nod, " Blake."

As they close the door behind them, they see Murphy sliding down, stretching his legs and the rest of his body then doing a slow rolling movement with his shoulders, before spreading out over the couch. She is sure he's going to fall asleep out there, under the dimmed lights. ' _It's his neck.'_

It occurs to her, only later, that she mistakenly thought that she'd been a sort of security blanket for Murphy these days. She hadn't been wrong, but it's not entirely right.

It is her _and_ their couch.

* * *

Murphy is not there when they stumble out of the room the next morning.

Bellamy gets to start on breakfast, his usual morning routine. He may have found Murphy curled around her the other night, or countless times before, but he still leaves an extra plate topped with breakfast food, for him, shoved to the side.

* * *

It's only two days later when she finds Murphy on the couch again.

Something is off. It's a different kind of off.

He's not moping, for one, which is good. He still has a bottle of those odd coloured fruity beers in his hand, it's peach this time.

She's already feeling nauseous about the thought alone of having those fruity drinks overflowing their fridge. And only that. She gets that Murphy needs them, stocking up on girly drinks, or anything sweet seems to be his post break-up ritual, but. Why do they have to stock the fridge entirely with _his_ beer? At least he did put on pants, even at his worst moping phase.

Two, he's also shaved, no more stubble. He's wearing a crisp ironed shirt and his hair is slicked back. Not trimmed yet, but better than yesterday.

Then he starts to talk.

But when he says ' _I paid a visit to Madame Katrina today'_ , she's absolutely sure that her roommate, in fact, visited the bordello they saw in passing last weekend (because a house with a big "ROOM BY THE HOUR" red neon sign hanging on the front is definitely not a regular bed & breakfast) on their way to this new burger place in the skeevy area of town.

Rumour says it the place is good, and Murphy loves burgers.

The sacrifices she's making for him sometimes … He'd better be a good pal and buy her back that figurine of a gargoyle, made of dark glass, he "accidentally" kicked with his hand a week after he moved in and it broke. Shattered into pieces beyond repair. She knows the figurine had creeped him out, but still.

She was honestly surprised it had been Murphy and not Bellamy. It's hard to forget the high pitched yelp, when Bellamy had seen it the first time one night. Well, it is her apartment, and she is a woman. She gets to decide on the decor.

Silence.

' _Oh right'_ , she still hasn't said anything.

And now Murphy's not saying anything, because he's like that. He's waiting for her reaction first and even then, she has to pull the information out of him, word by word. He is still an asshole.

She's not sure what he's expecting her to say. Perhaps, a cheerful _Congrats!_ , or a pat on the back? She's so not the right person for this talk.

It's not so soon later, when she finally understands the sentiment, and settles on an ' _Ohhh'_ and breathes a relieved sigh along with it.

So he'd paid a visit to Madame Katrina, the funny smelling fortune teller shop with the darkened big window, between _his_ favourite bike shop and _her_ favourite burrito shop.

"How did that go?" she starts.

He presses his lips together, like someone thinking really hard how to phrase what is to come. His curls fall into his face, as he tilts his head little and the dangling tufts cover half his face. She can still tell he's about to say something, and judging by the nervous ticks he's emitting right now (heaving deep breaths or scratching the label on the bottle), something unpleasant is to come.

He's doing it again. Seriously, he's dragging out the moment like no one else. Just as she's about to snap a ' _Cut it out Murphy already and spill!'_ , his head snaps up and he's staring at her hard.

"So Madame Katrina told me that my soulmate was a perky blond with a mole above her lip." Then also adds, "But she forgot to mention that she was already taken. "

' _Damn Murphy and his announcements.'_ He knows how to render her speechless for sure.

"O k a y, " she starts, voice a little uneven. "We can start on that. How many blondes are out there with a mole? I'm sure not - - —" she falters.

" _Clarke_ ," he interrupts." You don't have to pretend that you don't know what is going on.

"Look, Blake would beat the shit out of me if I were even to suggest this. And honestly, you two together are disgustingly cute —"

He's making a face. Then adds, "Oh my god, I cannot believe I've even said that. You're clearly bad influence on me."

"Uh huh," she says, uncertain.

"So don't worry about it, _princess_." He takes a long sip of his drink, then finishes it with the next gulp. "We're cool. But, I'm not gonna say I am not moody right now. You would think you pay for this thing and they'd tell you some happy crap. But there are clearly no real prospects out there for me.

"Well, right now… Maybe they haven't been born yet." He adds as he finally stands and starts towards his room. "I like you, but honestly, princess — you're not my type."

He leaves her with that in the living room.

He hears him putting on a blaring metal album for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

She is nervous.

She paces up and down the apartment, between her room and the kitchen. And then she walks circles around the couch, until finally, she hears the key turn in the lock. She heaves a sigh, Bellamy is home.

She should be more worried, really. Not that she believes the soulmate thing, all due respect to Madame Katrina, but it is still pure hanky-panky.

She likes Murphy, but she loves Bellamy.

Okay, maybe she cares about Murphy, too, or she wouldn't have invited him of her own free will to live with her. He's more like an unlike brother to her at this point, a brother that she's never had. She had Wells, true, but Murphy feels like a brother to her, well, a grumpier edition of Wells.

"Something is off. Where's Murphy?" Bellamy asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Moping in his room," she states.

"What about now? Wait… in his room? In the past 2 months he was out here snuggling into your side. Not that I mind that he's finally learned his place, but… what happened?"

"He visited a fortune-teller," she starts carefully. "Who told him I, as in _me_ ," circling her fingers before her face," was his soulmate."

Bellamy doesn't start to purple, as she's expected. Not even a cackle. Instead, he tilts his head, and releases a long huff-like ' _Huhhh'_.

And that's it.

She's so confused. Is it bad? Is it good? Is he upset? _IS HE GOING TO MURDER MURPHY?_

But then, "Mine is Octavia. No offence, babe" Bellamy says lightly, then plants a light kiss on her lips.

She tries to follow his lips with her own, wanting more and something deeper and messier. She's leaning up, craning her neck for a better angle, but he's already turned away, a step away from the bedroom.

"None taken", she mumbles. ' _Later, then…'_

She heaves a breath.

She loves him.

Although, she hasn't said that out loud to him. Yet. Raven thinks it's hilarious. Because she was so convinced that if they were to get together it were to happen with a big _BAM_ — first kisses leading to wandering hands exploring each other's body, urgent, like their life dependent on it. To heavy breaths and pants and to shedding clothes, practically on the spot, with nauseating _I love you_ s whispered between kisses and moans.

It's not exactly how it happened.

They still haven't said _I love you_ , despite being together for months.

And the sex … well, the sex was, IS PHENOMENAL. She's got no reason to complain.

Raven figured it out they did it the moment she stepped across the threshold of their bar to meet up for their regular "No Dudes Only Boobs" night, which is, basically, Raven's way of saying girl's night. Because saying girl's night is too pink for her.

And whenever she texts her a _NDOB 9pm_ , she knows she still wants to talks about girly stuff, nonetheless.

So yes, she and Bellamy had sex, but still haven't said those words.

Raven didn't want to believe it at first, just like she didn't believe that they hadn't had sex that Friday night, the night when Bellamy so heroically stepped in and "saved her" from Murphy's dirty paws. (His words.)

"Griffin, I have to say, I didn't see it in you to have so much self-control, after months of longing and abstinence, " she said, with an accompanying big belly laugh. The girl was laughing so hard, it was a true miracle she didn't fall off the chair and hit her butt. Given that her ass was the only part of her body still attached to a flat surface, since her arms and legs were flailing in the air.

It's not like Bellamy didn't appreciate the little tight red dress, because he did. She'd seen it in his darkening eyes, alright. And she knew she'd been a nice present to unwrap, as Murphy so eloquently put it. But no. Nothing like that happened that night, or that weekend, for that matter.

Bellamy was a gentlemen. Not that they didn't want to… it was just so good kissing him, getting lost in the kisses and in the kisses alone.

It took some convincing with Raven, but she believed her side of the story in the end.

Why would she lie to her anyways? The girl is a lie detector on two legs.

"How do you know?" she asks Bellamy, pondering herself.

"Hmmm?" He asks, absent-minded, with a fruity beer in his hands he just retrieved from the fridge.

"Why do you think Octavia is your soulmate? She's your sister—"

"So?" He asks back, not really paying attention to her face or her trembling voice at first, but then he puts his beer down on the floor, after taking a sip, and he's taking his place on the couch next to her. He's facing her now, and his hands take hers, squeezing them.

She's sure she's making a pouting face like a petulant child. No wonder his full attention is on her. "Exactly, she is my sister. My own flesh and blood. Of course she's my soulmate. "

She knows she's being childish, but she cannot look in his eyes now.

 _'_ _What is he trying to say with this?'_

" _Clarke,_ " he says, pleading," look at me," reaching out with a hand to lift her chin. Great, she is pretty sure she's tearing up.

"Octavia being my soulmate is as simple as that: She's been always a part of my life and she's always gonna be a part of it. I love her and I will always love her, no matter what. But —I like to select my people, and it's not even a good way of saying this...

"You're —"

She feels those words, right to her very core. Something, that again, deep down, she's already known.

"You're my people, too." She replies, a little too eager. She doesn't even care if her voice is a little wobbly. He has to know that she's feeling the same.

They don't say _I Love You_ with those exact three words, and honestly, it sounds better. It means more.

 _I chose to be with you. I want to be with you. You're mine. I'm yours._

And when she later texts Raven _he loves me!_ and Raven responds with an _of course he does_ , followed by a _happy 4 u babe_ , then a _now get some!_ not soon later, she's still smiling like an idiot.

It's not only her, though. Bellamy is smiling back at her with the same expression. He is an idiot, and he is _hers_.

* * *

It's only much, much later that day when she remembers that she wanted to ask him before.

"Is it not weird — for you?" She eyes him as they're preparing for bed.

"Why would it be weird? It's not like you have any romantic feelings for him… " he seems to be thinking for a minute, but there's also that typical Bellamy playfulness on his face and in his voice. She knows he trusts her.

She tells him either way. "No, that's not it. But, I don't know… I think I would miss him, if he wasn't around."

"Huh, I am pretty sure he would suffer more from not having _you_ around, and — as much as it pains me to admit it, you like him.

"And you said it yourself before you took him in: No one really understands him. And, no one tolerates all his shit like you do. You didn't have a choice, and you've practically already adopted him." He points out and plants a small kiss on top of her head.

"Hm," she hums, " you might be right. "

"I'm always right."

But is he? Is Murphy really her unlikely soulmate?

Odd world.

It's true. She does understand Murphy, like it's second nature to her and she's learned to put up with him pretty well. Not true — she didn't have to learn that, it was a given, she just knew.

"He's my soulmate, who knew... " she says with a small laugh. Then also adds "Don't tell Wells, or Raven, though. They are never gonna let me live this down."

"My lips are sealed, _Princess—_ "

 _Did he just —?_ " _Owwww_ , that's so sweet. Murphy is rubbing off on you!" She gives out a little squeal before throwing her arms around him.

She squeezes him well. "You like him!" She's is oddly happy about the slip.

"What?! NO!" He tries to object, but try as he will, he cannot deny it. He called her _princess_. And he cannot cover the small smile blooming at the corner of his lips.

Calling her princess maybe have been a Murphy thing before. Just like hanging out on her couch, on _their_ couch, or snuggling into her side, when he feels the world is against him and he's in desperate need of another human's closeness and some warmth.

Yes, Murphy's been the first and only one calling her _princess,_ ever since they met in that summer camp many years ago. But not anymore.

It sounds just right from Bellamy's lips. Somehow, it sounds even sweeter. She likes it.

"Shared custody then?" she grins.

"I can live with that," he says, a big smile plastered all over his face, pulling her into the bed with a searing kiss.

They fall asleep only a few hours later, when both of them are equally knackered.

* * *

The first time Murphy hears Bellamy calling her _princess_ , he simply cocks his head, lifts an eyebrow and slowly, a barely there smile is twitching at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't comment, but he does _not_ call her princess after that anymore.

 **xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

* * *

 **End Notes:**

 **So what do you think?**

I posted this on ao3 weeks ago, but rewrote it quite a bit since then.

About Murphy — my version of Murphy is still grumpy and snarky and tough, but I wanted to make him more affectionate and vulnerable and open with certain people, such as Clarke. I do believe that he is a caring person inside, but because of whatever backstory, his public persona is coming across more rude and closed off. You know, to keep up his bad boy reputation.

He is still a tough guy with Bellamy. Mostly.

Hmmm, I have like 2 more stories in my mind. We'll see if any more inspiration strikes. (Or you know, you can give ideas, and who knows…)

So, what is next? Murphy on a wedding (kinda) or Octavia?

* * *

Also, I have a tumblr now (eskimo-whispers), the link to that is under my profile.


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